


no promises, no demands

by itsalexthelion



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mickey Milkovich in Mexico, POV Mickey Milkovich, Pre-Canon, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19068922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalexthelion/pseuds/itsalexthelion
Summary: Mickey has found his place in Mexico, no matter how small or simple it may be. Though he's tried to run from who he was and what he left behind, there's still ghosts of his past hanging around every corner - maybe closer than he thinks. Can he finally find closure?





	1. believe me, believe me

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this way before 9x06 came out and noel being in s10 was announced, but here it is. this was written out of complete spontaneity, so forgive me for any left over errors, inconsistencies, and all of that jazz. i tried my best to double check everything. i've never posted on Ao3 before and have no idea what i'm doing so the tags are lacking in what all happens but i'll learn. anyway, hope y'all enjoy.
> 
> <3 Lex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any spanish is straight up from google translate because i can't remember a thing i learned in spanish class (i don't know if maybe i should include in the notes what is being said?) so please forgive me if anything is off.

"Alex, you ready?"

Pause. Silence, except for the sound of me mumbling numbers to myself.

"Alex, amigo!"

"The fuck you want?" I look up when it registers he's talking to me. I've been Mickey for twenty two fuckin' years. This whole fugitive name change bullshit still kinda has me out of line. It wasn't the most creative adjustment. I just changed the spelling of my middle name and made it my first. But it's worked.

"You ready to go?" Leo's accent is thicker than his skull. Which is pretty goddamn thick, because he's a fucking idiot. I deal with his dumbass though, 'cause this sad excuse for a gas station is the only work I've been able to find. Plus it's legal. I'm trying to prevent myself from getting into any shit here. I've never had to be such an upstanding citizen before. It's boring as fuck all.

"No shit I'm ready, but don't you see I'm fuckin' counting the drawer, dipshit?" I hold up the stack of bills in my hand.

"Riiight," he nods like this is news and smiles all dopey, gold tooth showing. "Lock the door when you leave. I see you at Rita's later, yeah?"

"Yeah, 'course." I say, barely paying attention to him as I count. As if I won't be at Rita's later. Alcohol is all I've got to dull the shitstorm that's in my head. That's not new, not something I ain't done before. I didn't get to when I was locked up. Had to work out until my muscles wanted to fuckin' kill themselves instead. No matter what distractions I used, here or there, the only way I'd ever fully get away from my past is if someone bashed my head in until I gotta brain injury bad enough to give me permanent amnesia. Or died. Guess that either works.

I count out the last of the money, close the drawer. Press the heels of my palms into my eyes, hard. _"Fuck."_

Shitty green stolen car, hot sun, red hair, ridiculous floral dress. Sex and kisses he'd never know had me fuckin' weak. Gatorade bottle bong, school bleachers, burner phones, docks at midnight, a beat up van. The goodbye that hurt more than all the others we've ever said before.

He was still under my skin. Like I told him. I felt like a junkie, scratching itches that aren't real, strung out from withdrawls. Fuck him. Fuck him and how much I fucking loved him with everything in me. Fuck him and how much I still fucking do.

Slam the store door, glass rattling, lock it. Decide against stopping back by my hole in the wall apartment. Ain't gotta reason to.

By the time I slide into my usual stool at the very end of the bar, he was there again. At the front of my mind, buzzing around like a house fly that somehow kept missing the swatter.

_"This isn't me anymore."_

Fuck, man, it'd been close to a year already. I was so sick of this shit. Him always creeping into my thoughts. Maybe it was just habit, seeing as that's how it was while I was in the can, too.

I did some really fucked up shit to get outta there. Not like I've ever been a fucking prince charming do-gooder kissing ass and making the world a better place. I feel sick, right in the deepest part of my belly, when she comes to mind. That look in her eyes. I wonder if I ever looked like that to him? Sick with puppy love so much you could see it through every smile, every glance. Eyes all bright and hopeful for a future with someone.

I left her and her girly giggles that made me cringe because I knew when it was said and done, I'd be leaving her behind wondering why she'd been so fuckin' stupid to let herself get used so bad that she'd end up going to prison for me. That had to be where she was now.

_"You're that vato who made that prison guard fall for you."_

She took that big of a risk, 'cause she really loved me. She really thought I loved her enough that I'd do anything to be with her. Live the most normal life we could manage, given our circumstances. But I didn't follow through. I had my reasons. Doesn't change the fact I left someone who trusted me asking where they went wrong. She's probably pissed and sad and a shitload of other emotions she can't figure out right now.

I can understand. I know I am. That's what bugs me more than anything. I did to her what he did to me. I know that's probably selfish to say. She doesn't deserve that though, no matter how much she meant nothing to me.

"Como esta mi hombre favorito?" Rita smiles, wiping out a glass as she heads over towards me.

I look up, notice I'm biting my lip so hard it hurts. Shake my head as if that will make his and her faces go away.

Rita's somewhere in her fifties, always in bright colors, with real kind brown eyes and long salt and pepper hair that's always in a braid. She's a fuckin' saint, man. Took to me my first day in this joint and saw right through me. She wants the spanish she's teaching me to become second nature, so our talks are usually a mix between languages. She always knows what's on my mind so well it's almost freaky. I've shared a lot of personal shit with her and I don't feel judged, though there's been a few things I was kinda hesitant getting out. I'm soft when it comes to her. She's like the type of mom I wished me and my siblings woulda had.

"Estoy bien," I ain't fine. I never am when I get like this. Which is way too fucking often.

She gives me one of her "bitch, please" looks, a lot like I know I make, before she slides a beer down the bar towards one of the regulars. Her voice is firm and I feel like a little kid in trouble. "No me mientas, Alejandro."

I dunno why I play myself into thinking I can bullshit her, really.

I start to tell her she's got me wrong, but after months of spilling all my piss drunk life story to her, it's no use.

I bite my lip again, voice quiet, not making eye contact when I tell her what's bothering me. "Thinkin' about them again."

She slides me a shot without asking what I want 'cause she already knows. "Eres fuerte, bebe."

I know she doesn't mean to have me feeling like the pathetic bitch I tell myself I am sometimes. I know she's trying to be encouraging. Don't work, though.

_"You're strong, baby."_

I still am, physically. That was beat into me, literally, when I wasn't even old enough to make a mark fighting back. I was at one point, emotionally. Had reason to be. Someone to be strong for. Someone who had me fucked up on love so bad I did shit I didn't think was possible. I proved myself wrong, over and over.

_"Don't fucking tell me what's impossible."_

That was then.

I dump the booze down my throat and let the burn settle. Wish it would burn away this lingering ache in my chest. "Te equivocas, pero gracias, mom."

Her face breaks into one of her bright loving smiles before brushing off my self hatred like it ain't shit. "No, tu estas equivocado. Now, there are customers, I will be back."

She leaves to check on the men gathering on the bar stools; the Friday night time busy hours are starting to kick in. Greets them with her loud, cheerful voice. Everyone smiles when Rita smiles.

I watch her, shaking my head at the stupid amount of good she sees in me. I turn to the wall made of mirrors with worn edges behind the bar, looking at myself. Don't look any different than when I left the good ol' U S of A. The fuck is that good hiding? Will I ever be able to see it like she does?


	2. can't tell you why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies to those who are very pro-momma milkovich being a kind and loving mom. i took a different approach to her in the brief time i mention her.

One day I was who the fuck knows how many shots deep, laying my head on the bar and trying to imagine what my first date ever would've been like. Drunker than I ever have been before, I shit you the fuck not, singing _Love Is A Battlefield_ to myself. Literally the most pathetic pussy ass fucker alive. I'd have ended up with alcohol poisoning or getting in a bar fight with the hopes of someone pulling a knife on me. But nah. Guess it wasn't my time yet, because Rita came to my rescue.

She placed some bread and water in front of me. "You eat that, drink this. No excuse. Soak the alcohol up. Vomit if you have to. A mess, thinking about that boy again. No more of that. He is not worth your pain. You have too much of a beautiful heart and soul."

My head rolled to the side, looking from it to her. I could feel my eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Nobody had ever really told me to put the booze down before. I doubt many people woulda given half a shit if I really had gotten alcohol poisoning and died at most points in my life. The simple gesture made me feel cared for. I gave her a wasted smile and shoved the bread in my mouth. I surprised myself when I said: "Thanks, mom."

That's what I've called her since then.

My real ma is dead. Wasn't much of a mother, but I guess I get it. Even though Terry never really did anything in front of us, we weren't stupid enough not to know that she got the same treatment we did and then some. Dealt with it by leaving her children to fend for ourselves pretty much. You get your ass beat half to death enough for defending your kids, after a while, you start looking the other way. The way things were growing up, we'd have been better off not getting shoved out of her cooch into this world in the first place.

Born into a family with a big bad reputation. Stole to feed ourselves. No direction. No purpose. Didn't know what self care was, just self preservation. Didn't know what real love felt like or how it worked 'sides the ride or die mentality us kids felt towards each other.

Survival. It's always been about survival.

Yeah, I had my siblings. I had a mom that I couldn't even be sad over when she croaked 'cause I never _really_ knew her, just lived with her. I had a dad I spent most my life trying to make proud, but never could. I didn't realize at the time it's just 'cause I'm not him. That's the only person he cares about. The moment I stopped caring was the moment I knew I never would be him and that was a good thing. He's a hate fueled, psychotic fuckin' shitstain and I hope he fucking rots. Just took me a while to admit that.

Rita became the parent I never had. I let her.

At first I opened up to her 'cause I just didn't give a fuck anymore. I'd been place to place for a couple months before coming here and I had no idea what the fuck I was doing at that point. But the more I got to know her, the more I found myself babbling to her. Figured I'd lose the urge to keep going sooner or later. Carry through on using my sparkling criminal background to get 'hold of a gun and blow my brains out instead of trying to make a life for myself in a strange place where I don't know anybody and had nothing to my name but guilt stained money from the man I'd never be with.

What was the fucking use in survival anymore, y'know? Why keep going when there was nothing to me but drinking a lot and apparently caring too goddamn much?

So I didn't care what the fuck I told her, 'sides the escaped convict part. Figured it wouldn't matter much when I was gone. Wanted to be. Wasn't really prepared to grow to care this much about her. Definitively didn't expect to trust her after I thought trust no longer fit into my fuckin' vocabulary.

Speaking of the very few people I care about, my phone buzzes in my pocket and the screen lights up with my sister's name. I unlock my phone, looking down at the tiny glowing words.

_happy birthday, assface._


	3. trapped by your love

Mandy doesn't text or call often, but she's the only sibling that knows where I am. Ian told her. Don't matter how long they're apart, or how long they've gone without talking, that's her best friend as much as he was mine. Three weeks into me being here, a number I'd never seen before sent me a message. Only held onto it with the fucked hope that Ian might call. Instead I got:

_UR IN FUCKING MEXICO???_

The list of possibilities stopped at one.

_Sup Mands_

To which she took two whole seconds to reply:

_wtf mickey!!!_

When I didn't instantly answer, she'd called, barely letting me say hello before ranting and telling me how idiotic I was. It was weird when she got all quiet and asked me if I was okay. Meaning, was I okay after being left at the border. We weren't exactly Chatty Cathys when it came to talking feelings and I knew she might blab about what I said to Ian. Caught myself off guard when I said, "No, I'm not o-fuckin-kay."

"He's my best friend and I'll always support him, y'know? Following you all the way to the border just to leave you was pretty shit, though."

"I know. I was there."

She ignored my dry response. "Any time you're mentioned, he's either silent or cynical. So like him, right? Covering up his feelings with vague facial expressions or sarcasm? He can't bullshit me. He still loves you, Mick. I'm sure it doesn't help to say that. But..."

I rubbed my hand over my face, sighed, voice quiet. "No, it really doesn't."

"Hey," she paused. "I love you, dickhead. You know that, right?"

"Don't get all fuckin' soft on me. It won't fix shit."

She snorted.

"I, uh, love you too," I mumbled.

"I know." I sensed her shit-eating grin through the phone. "You have somewhere to stay? Ian told me about the money."

"Yeah," I fidgeted, uncomfortable at the thought of having a year's worth of his savings stashed in my shitty apartment. "I didn't want money, Mandy. Just wanted..." I tried to say _him_ out loud, but I couldn't. "I tried to give it the fuck back."

"He told me," 'Course he did. "But you needed it. Robbing a bank? Really? You already broke out of prison. Whatta dumbshit."

I couldn't help but laugh. In retrospect, guess she wasn't wrong. "Bitch, I know. I didn't rob a fuckin' bank, though, did I? I'm makin' my tainted break up money work."

"Use it," She insisted. "You make any friends with that shining personality of yours?"

"One," I snorted at the fact that was impressive for me. "She's a sunshiney broad in her fifties who listens to me spout all my deep dark secrets n' shit when I'm hammered and I call her mom."

"Oh my god," she bursted into laughter. "Even in another country nobody likes you. You've got a mexican adoptive mom?"

"She's the only reason I didn't go do somethin' stupid. Nobody else gives a fuck. 'Cept you, I guess."

_I sure am fuckin' candid today,_ I'd thought.

"Mick..." She sounded like she just physically cringed at my words.

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "It's Alex now."

"Alex? I wouldn't exactly peg you as an Alex. Why not Micheal? You coulda still been Mickey that way. Not that I know jackshit about changing my name as a fugitive."

"Don't wanna be Mickey no more," I clenched my fist, hard. "Not here. Just changed my middle name up a little and used it, s'all."

Pause. "You gonna make it out there alright?"

"Have so far, ain't I?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "I'm gonna keep checking on you. Don't wanna be thinkin' you're dead in a ditch somewhere. Tell me when you change numbers, 'kay? Do that, by the way. He isn't gonna call, Mick. Let him go. For your own good."

"Yeah, I'll tell ya," is all I could offer before we'd said goodbye.


	4. chained to your side

I'd forgotten my birthday existed before she texted me today. Ain't no reason to celebrate. Here I was. Year twenty three starting in a bar in Mexico, my name changed, living off dirty money, working at a gas station, with one fuckin' friend. I haven't made it to the beach yet. Maybe I should go today and act like I give a shit.

"Are you still thinking of bad memories, or is your face looking that way for another reason?"

"Nah. It was just a text from Mandy. Just, uh, tellin' me happy birthd-"

"Alejandro, ¿por qué no me lo dijiste?!"

"'Cause I didn't want you doin' anything. It ain't important..."

"It is your birthday! Of course this is important!" She turns to announce it to the whole room, and my skin crawls when a bar full of eyes settle on me. "Todo el mundo es el cumpleaños de mi chico!"

I hold my bottle of beer at face level, almost hiding behind it, when the whole room fills with "Feliz cumpleanos!" and raised glasses.

I give a weak nod. I fuckin' hate attention. "Yeah, gracias, whatever."

"We will go to the beach! I have a son with a second house there, he can show you around and we will celebrate!"

"Rita, it'll be real late, I really don't -"

"No, no," she shoos at me. "We will go. ¿Cuántos años tienes ahora?"

"I'm, uh, twenty three."

"Veintitres. Maraviloso. Cerramos temprano esta noche y vamos a la playa."

"You ain't gonna take no for an answer, are ya?"

"Si."

"Alright... Voy a ir."

"Muy bien!"

She does close early and I do go.

The ride in Rita's shitty little pick up truck feels like it goes on forever. At some point I pass out, head on her shoulder, and only wake up when she gently pokes at my arm.

Rita blindfolds me before we get out of the car, much to my protest, and leads me where the ground goes from solid to sand. She tells me to take off my shoes, and I do.

"Mom, this is stupid. Will you please get this fuckin' thing off my face?"

"Silencio!"

I hold back, settle with muttering under my breath and stumbling out farther into the sand. When she takes off the blindfold, I'm a little thrown off by the fact that something so simple as a huge ass body of water could literally stop me in my tracks. Don't think I've ever been struck dumb by something based on how beautiful it is before Ian came into my life.

But him, the girl, my family, his family, what I've done, things I've said - every last fucking part of me that Chicago, Illinois ever held drops out of my mind. I'm free again, for the first time in a long time, in this moment. It's only this.

And this is more than what I imagined.

It's nearly midnight and the moon is full. Bright as I've ever seen it. There's these shades of dark blue, gray, and white covering the sky, colliding with the edge of the water. Stars, faint behind the moving clouds. It's something else. The waves hit the shore, short and gentle. I feel like walking into them just to feel what it's like. It keeps going... miles and miles and miles... stretching out ahead of me.

I look over to Rita, who's all smiles, and I let myself smile back. A real one. Don't think I've done that in a long ass time.

"Que sonrisa hermosa," She says, looking at me like I'm something special. Nah, my smile ain't beautiful. Don't think any part of me really is. I don't say that, not now, when she's looking at me as if I'm somebody to be proud of. I just shut my mouth and let her.

There's a tiny wooden shack of a house behind her with a patio all strung up with Christmas lights, faded fold out chairs circling a rusty legged glass top table. Two of the chairs are taken.

Can't tell if my heart just dropped, stopped, or lit up as bright as the tiny bulbs shining down on their faces. Maybe all three.

Red hair, combed back. Pale as fuck. Faint freckles under blue-green eyes. Almost nervous, I learned how to tell a long time ago. So tall he takes up the chair easy. Slouched back with his ankles crossed in front of him, hands resting on the armrests. Relaxed. Confident. Familiar.

Dirty blonde hair, tucked behind her ears. Black dress and eyeliner that makes her eyes brighter. Blue, like mine. Sitting on the edge of her seat, looking out of place in a new setting. Excited. Smiling. Familiar.

They don't speak. I don't either. I think I forgot how.


	5. we are young

I look to Rita for an answer as to how and why in the fuck Ian and Mandy are sitting in front of me right now.

"Remember the time I ask you for your sister's number in case I need to contact her?" She says, putting her hand on my shoulder.

"Uh, no?"

"Maybe you were drunk at the time..." Her face screws up, trying to remember. "I did, though. She check with me to make sure you are truly well. She called me last week, tells me when your birthday is. I am good actress, pretending I did not know, yes?"

"I spent two freaking weeks talking this prick -" Mandy jabs a finger into Ian's arm. " - into taking off work and coming with me."

I stumble through how, what, why before blurting "The _fuck_ , Mandy?"

I'm at a loss, backing up away from them with my hands up as if I don't want any of them to get closer to me. Moments before I felt at peace. Now I'm filled with something close to being tweaked out and drinking five cups of coffee with no food. I'm shaking and I don't know if it's nerves or sudden anger.

My sister's eyebrows draw together. "I thought you'd be happy to see us... to maybe, y'know, get to have a real talk? Sort some things out?"

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, hard. I look past her, steady, and Ian can't meet my eyes. He shifts in his chair. My voice is cold, empty. "The fuck are you here for, Gallagher?"

"He just wanted to -" Mandy starts.

"I'm not talking to you." I snap, and there's a twist of guilt in my stomach at the sight of my sister's face dropping. Her intentions were good, I know.

Ian looks up at me, I mean _really_ looks. Drags his gaze over my face, slowly, then the rest of me, briefly. I feel exposed and that just makes me shake worse. He looks sad when he meets my eyes again, sighs.

"I came to talk. Like, really talk. Deep shit I should've said a million times before. Sorrys, most of all, really." He pauses. "Only if you'll have me, Mick. You don't want me here, I'll leave."

"You don't get to just..." I gesture to him. "Just _show up_ , like it hasn't been this long since - like you didn't -" The more I stumble through my words, the madder I get. How fucking dare this motherfucker?

I thumb my nose, start to pace. Collect myself. I ain't Mickey anymore. This shit can't effect me anymore.

"I'm done here," is all I have to give before I walk back out into the sand, towards the water. When I reach it I sit down at the edge. It soaks through my shorts as it comes and goes. I don't get up.

There's soft chatter behind me. Rita's worried voice, Mandy replying. Ian says "I'm sorry" and I hear his chair slide back before the back screen door shuts.

There's a heaviness beside me moments later, but I don't look at who sits next to me.

"We're getting fucking soaked. What are you doing, dipshit?"

"I didn't ask you to sit by me, now, did I, bitch?"

Mandy laughs, but it's off. When I turn to look at her, she's wiping at tears in her eyes. With no idea what to say, I hesitate before putting my arm around her. She rests her head on my shoulder, I feel her relax.

We ain't ever been the most touchy feely family, never good at emotions. That doesn't matter much anymore, though. We've shared more since I got here than our whole fuckin' lives. I'd kill for my sister. I mean, fuck, that's what got me into this whole shitshow. Years ago, ready to beat the brakes off the prick that fucked with her. Look at us now. Ha.

"I know you don't want to, but hear him out. It will be worth it, I think."

"The fuck should I do that for? He fucked me up. I ain't the biggest fan of bein' fucked up over nobody."

"He's here, isn't he?"

He is.

"My ass is chafing from the sand washin' into my shorts."

Mandy bursts into giggles. Don't want to smile, but I do.

"Yeah? That's funny, huh?" I pick up some of the sand and throw it. It lands on her arm, like an anti-snowball, and she literally squeaks.

I have about half a second to get up before I'm hit in the side by a ball of wet sand much larger than the one I threw, followed by a "Fuck you!"

For a moment, I forget that it's the birthday I didn't want and the boy I've been through hell and high water for isn't waiting inside to talk to me about a breakup I wish we'd never had. It's just me and my little sister, children like we never really got to be, throwing sand at each other on a beach somewhere in Mexico. Crazy how shit turns out, man.


	6. heartache to heartache

We're covered in salt water and smeared with sand when I catch Rita saying, "They are very similar, these two. You see the strength in the struggle. Softness in those hard gazes. Beautiful souls, with eyes like the sea."

"That's what made me love them," Ian answers, quietly, like he's talking to himself. I almost can't make it out from where we're standing. "They take no shit from anybody and they're ride or die if I've ever seen it."

Mandy follows my eyes, listening with me. He looks right at us, but speaks to Mom. "They're so fucking amazing."

"We know," Mandy says, putting her hair up in a bun and walking back towards the house. When she smiles at Ian, it's a real one every time. "Don't forget no one can ever measure up."

"I, uh, should get going," He nods towards the door, shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Nah," The fuck am I doing? "Stay, man. Shouldn't we be celebratin' or some shit? You came all the way here for my birthday, didn't ya?"

His face is all lit up with sudden hope, a sudden grin. It drops real quick, clear he doesn't want to hold on too tight in case I change my mind. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Really?" Mandy says, wiggling a little bit in place, excited.

"Yeah, really. Now get me wasted before I change my mind."

"Yay! Rita, did you hear that? My asshole brother is actually going to celebrate his birthday!"

She runs back towards the house, grabbing Ian by the hand and dragging him inside behind her. "Be right back, I was ready for this even if you didn't want it."

"Slow down, Mandy, jesus!" Ian stumbles across the deck, looking back at me before the door shuts behind them. He smiles again. This time it doesn't leave his face.

I look down at my wet sand covered shorts, then up at Mom. "I ain't gonna lie to you right now, sand and salt water makes my fuckin' ass itch."

Rita laughs, holding out her hand to me. "Come, Mikhailo. Mandy already has clothes ready for you. A determined, wonderful girl she is."

I start heading towards her, but the sound of my name freezes me mid-step. Ian's _"Only if you'll have me, Mick"_ runs through my head.

Wait.

Did I hear her wrong, or am I fucked right now? My voice sounds nervous pre-teen cracked when I ask, "What'd you just call me?"

Her hand doesn't drop. She gestures for me to keep walking. "Mikhailo. That is your name, yes? Unique, like you. I like it very much."

"Rita, I can - I can explain -" I'm panicking. It ain't registering in my head yet, but I can hear it in my voice.

Please, please, fucking please don't let Rita not trust me. Please don't tell me Ian and Mandy will go home and Rita won't ever fucking talk to me again and I'll find myself back where I started. Alone. I can't do it.

My eyes are on the edge of tears, but they don't finish. They rarely do. Terry always taught me and my brothers only pussies cry, and pussies deserved to get their shit wrecked. Sticks with you, I guess. I run my hand across my face, turn away.

Suddenly Rita is holding me, rocking me back and forth. I take a deep breath, stop myself, leaving my arms at my sides.

"You look afraid..." She tells me as she backs away to hold my face in her hands. They're cold and gentle and I'm quiet 'cause I dunno what to do and Ian and Mandy are here and Rita knows I'm not who she thought I was and I can't be him ever again and I know she feels my tears but I can't look at her and - "Don't be afraid."

I let out a breath. Didn't even notice I was holding it in. A faint noise close to a choke comes out of me. I meet her eyes again, vision blurry, feeling like I really am a child. Guess I am, in her eyes.

"Mandy has told me all about you, Mickey," She drops her hands, just to take mine and guide me to the chairs Ian and Mandy had just been using. "And Ian... The pain and love he holds inside is true. I cannot hold the hurt he's caused against him after watching the way he talks about you. My heart, it breaks for you both. I understand, my son. I understand."

We sit and the screen door makes a slight creak and Mandy utters a quiet "shit" before opening it and walking out as if she wasn't obviously just watching us.

The way she's looking at me is soft at the edges. I squirm in my seat, uncomfortable. Yeah, she's gotten a few confessions outta me since that day she got in contact with me the first time. It's easier on the phone to blurt out shit I wouldn't say in person though.

Big brother Mickey, who was ready to kill the gangly ginger fuck who she accused of raping her years ago, isn't here. He's all red eyes and crossed arms, trying to put up a front. There's no use. I ain't him right now. Who I am is who only the gangly ginger fuck in question and Rita have seen me as until now. Vulnerable. I hate the feeling.

"I'll leave you alone, mi amor, we can talk whenever you like. You have more important things to tend to..." Mom says, her eyes flickering towards Ian as he comes back outside, drink in hand. He's got Mandy's attention now, so she's not watching us anymore.

She starts towards the door, saying something about a speaker to play music from Mandy's phone. I get up, grab her arm loosely, pull her back into a hug. My voice is stronger now. I feel better, knowing she knows. Knowing she doesn't give a shit if I'm her "Alejandro" or her Mikhailo, I'm still hers.

"Te amo."

"Te amo," she echoes, squeezing me tighter before kissing my forehead and slipping away.

My sister is moving around, setting bottles and mixers and glasses across the faded wooden bar close to the house. She leaves, comes back with one of those pre-made meat and cheese trays, and starts to cut into rolls. She should know I'm gonna make a comment about the tiny faggoty sandwiches she's aiming to make. That's that shit for PTA meetings and rich bitch events.

Pieces of her hair fall into her face and she asks Ian, "Hey, can you fix my bun?"

He sets his glass down so he can slide behind her. Her hair unwinds, he wraps it back up, eyebrows drawing together like doing a girls hair is as hard as solving a Rubix cube.

"I think I got it?" He offers, looking over his work.

"Thanks."

She glances at me, then my clothes, throws a bag on the bar. "Go change. You promised you'd party with us."

I answer her with my middle finger, but she just smirks.

"There's this outdoor shower thing by the side of the house, if you need to wash the sand off." She nods to her right, biting into a roll.

The water is cold as fuck and the gaps in the wood are so goddamn big that I might as well be naked spraying myself down with a hose. I dry off with the obnoxiously colored beach towel and when I open the bag I realize the shirt inside is the Hawaiian shirt Ian judged me for keeping out of the suitcases he'd had stacked all through the house.

I huff out a short laugh. There's no fuckin' way it's the same one, but it's gotta be. The fuck did they find it at? I won't ask if they don't tell. If they wanted me to be sentimental or some shit, guess it worked. Won't admit it though.

When I come back around on the deck, Ian and Mandy are slow dancing to the song playing over a bluetooth speaker that's sitting on the bar. I lean against the wall, watching. The song is "LOVE.", a Kendrick Lamar song I remember from one of his playlists on his phone when we were on the road to the border. He twirls her around, dips her, and they stumble when she stands.

"Swear to fuck, Ian, if you drop me I'm kicking your fucking ass!" But they're laughing.

He notices me before she does and the way he goes silent and still makes her search for what he's so focused on.

"Come on, Mick. I'll make you your favorite."

"You even know what it is?"

"As much as I've been on the phone with you while you were drunk?" She snorts. "Jack and orange juice, fucking weirdo."

She's pouring glasses and I haven't moved when she tells me, "Dance with Ian."

He's still quiet, holding onto his wrist like the wallflower at a middle school dance. As if Ian's ever been shy.

"You'll have to get me drunk 'nough for that."

She does.


	7. when i'm losing control

Don't know how many shots I've taken, why my phone is cracked, or how my shirt ended up unbottoned. Might as well just go to sleep because the sun will be up soon, but instead I'm sitting on the deck taking in the view in front of me as long as I can. Mom left a while ago after singing happy birthday and feeding me a store bought cake that was way too sweet. She'd gotten a Mickey Mouse head icinged on the top and as much as I wanted to hate it, she thought it was cute, so I held back any sarcastic comments.

A half hour ago Mandy drug a rust spotted long beach chair she found beside the house out into the sand, threw a towel over herself, and fell asleep as if it was the most comfortable fucking bed she's ever laid on. Ian is sitting on the edge of it now, just watching the water. She rolls over and he turns back to look at her, smiles, and brushes hair out of her face. A weird tinge of jealousy hits me. Maybe it's the fact I'm too delusional to lie to myself right now.

I don't stop myself when the fading tequila and sleep deprivation decide we're going to sit by him.

I shove on Mandy's leg until she grumbles and curls up into a ball without opening her eyes and sit on the corner opposite of Ian. The chair is really goddamn uncomfortable but I don't care. We're touching and that's all I want right now.

The tequila told me I'm brave, but I ain't too brave. I lean forward, keep my hands locked together in front of me, try not to look at him. It's quiet, so quiet all there is is the sound of waves and my sister's soft snores. Ian sniffles beside me, trying to be subtle. I'm scared to look at him, to ask what's wrong like I have a thousand times before. But it's almost 5am, I'm still half drunk, and this is the closest I'll get to not running from emotions I don't want to talk about while he's here.

"Gallagher?"

"Yeah?" His voice breaks. It hurts. I don't want it too, but it does.

"You alright?"

A half choke, half laugh leaves him. "I'm sorry."

"Why're you sorry, man?" I look at him now. Really look at him. Eyes red, tears he doesn't bother to wipe off his cheeks, lip between his teeth.

"Not for crying," Ian stands up, runs his fingers through his hair and locks them behind his neck. He closes his eyes and there's this look on his face like he's in pain. When he opens them, he comes to kneel in front of me, staring hard at my hands for a moment, then up at my face.

"Can I?"

I unfold them for him to take.

"I'm sorry for all these stupid fucking goodbyes we've had to say because of me."

His hands in mine are steady, putting emphasis on his words just by the way he holds them. My chest aches from the way he's looking at me.

"I'm just... I'm just _really_ fucking sorry, Mick." My silence must leave him wanting to keep spouting shit because once he's started, he can't seem to stop. "And I- I know that doesn't change anything. I know. But I flew all the way here for the chance to get on my knees like the pathetic asshole I've been and beg you to forgive me... I know you know I don't do shit like that for just anyone." There's that smirk I got so used to seeing, an attempt to be funny, but it's half assed.

"Too fuckin' stubborn. Too fuckin' proud too, you fucking dick."

The years have taken him and pushed him forward through some serious shit. He came out on the other side looking like he's never camped out in abandoned buildings, strung out, living off the money he made from giving walking erectile dysfunctions lap dances. Like he's never stolen my kid, gotten arrested, and locked up in a nuthouse. Like he's never looked at me and my boyfriend was gone and he told me he didn't know what love was. Like he's never looked at me through prison glass and lied when he said he'd wait for me. Like he's never watched me drive away after days of being together, talking about any and everything we've missed, knowing he'd never see me again.

I was so tired of saying goodbye. He had to have been too.

But here he is. We'll have to do it again, one last fuckin' time.

"Will you? Forgive me?" Ian asks, and suddenly I can feel an orange jumpsuit against my skin, a plastic phone against my ear. See the emptiness take over the face of someone who once looked at me like I hung the moon.

 _"Will you? Wait for me?"_ I hear myself ask, somewhere in the back of my mind.

The same face that's looking at me with sad puppy dog eyes and a whole lot of hope right now. No emptiness anymore. He's come back to me.

"I understand, if you don't."

Holding onto shit from our past isn't worth it anymore. Fuck it.

"Guess I have to give you some credit for dropping money on a plane ticket to Mexico just to show up for my birthday and say sorry for once in your fuckin' life, don't I?"

He tackles me - deadass jumps into my arms and throws us on the ground - and hugs me like I just told him he won the lottery.

"Gallagher, come on, man." But I don't try to hide my smile, don't move to push him off.

"Take that gay shit inside, loverboys, I'm trying to sleep." Mandy mumbles, swatting at us as best she can.

He takes both of my hands again, pinning them on either side of my head. He's smiling like a fucking idiot. "Will do, Mands."

There's that reminder that I've got a heart. I feel it in my ribs, hear it in my head. Wonder if he can too. There's a feeling dripping through me that hasn't been there in a long ass time.

Fuck, I missed him.


	8. searching our hearts

There's a couch with a pull out bed that looks like it's from the 70s in living room of the house that's a pain in the ass to unfold, but after arguing with Ian about him doing it all wrong and me kicking the metal frame until it stays down, we manage.

The mattress is such shit it might as well be a piece of cardboard. The sheets smell like a mix of cigarettes and mothballs and I'm so worn out I want to break my skull against the wall because I can't sleep. I fucking hate it. 

Ian's been so quiet the past twenty minutes I figure he's finally resting. We'd laid there talking about stupid shit long enough for the sun to start shining through the slots of the bent plastic blinds. His EMT job, how I met Mom, his mental health progress, memories from when we were kids, him asking me to say words in spanish just so he could make an attempt to repeat them back to me. He was absolutely terrible at it, but I didn't tell him that.

I must be wrong about him being asleep though, because even though he's faced the other way, I hear him say my name.

"Mickey?"

"Sup?"

He's silent. I start to think he was talking in his sleep. Or he didn't expect me to answer and now he doesn't know what to say.

Then, louder, he asks: "When did you know?"

"Know what?"

He rolls over to face me, one hand resting underneath his head and the other hand's fingers idly tracing over his bottom lip. His voice is scratchy from tiredness. "You know."

I turn my head all the way towards him and raise an eyebrow. "No, I really don't."

"When did you know you _like_ -liked me?"

"What are we, thirteen year old girls? You wanna talk Justin Timberlake next? Hang up some posters from Teeny Bopper magazine?"

He laughs, low and soft. "I am always up to talk about my sexual awakening brought on by JT."

I roll my eyes, look away from him again up at the ceiling. Shadows slash across the water stained white and I follow the wavy outlines of the splotches in my mind. "Probably that day you showed up on my doorstep when Monica dropped by for one of her, uh, enlightening visits with that dyke trucker she was with at the time."

My tone is sarcastic and harsh. I know he misses her, but I can't hold it back. He doesn't seem to notice. Maybe he just chooses to ignore it.

"Why?"

"'Cause no one had ever really said they _needed_ me up until that point. Like... I dunno, man. You were upset. You ran to me, when you could've chosen anyone else. Even Mandy, who was in the same house. Wasn't really sure what to do. I felt different after that, I guess."

Meaning, I couldn't stop thinking about him on my front porch, halfway to tears, believing being with me would make it better. That scared me, and I don't scare easy. It scared me even more that I had no intention of running from it.

_"I need to see you. I don't know where else to go."_

"Different how?" He asks.

"Like it was changing from a convenient fuck to something else. Didn't know what yet. Sure as shit didn't want you to know I thought that, though." I keep my eyes away from him, take a deep breath and let it out. "But the way you looked at me started meanin' a lot more."

I hear the smile in his voice, feel him move just a little closer. "Really? You fucking sap."

"Ay, you asked," I shrug. "Act like I ain't said shit like that before."

"Can I tell you something?"

"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?"

Pause. Swear I can hear the gears turning in his head, getting ready to speak, to say whatever it is the right way.

"Okay, but don't say some dumb shit about me sounding gay."

"I mean, you are, so..."

He lets out an exasperated sigh met with my laughter.

"Go on, Gallagher."

"You're my best friend. I- I just want you to know that. I'm probably the world's worst anything to have, that's been established. But you really are. I love you, Mickey. Okay?"

I prop myself up on my elbows, watch the way he shoves the nerves back. His curls are showing, his shirt is pushed halfway up on one side, and there's that recognizable fire all the Gallaghers seem to have written across his face.

Like they're sure of themselves, even if they're not. Like no one has the ability to tell them they can't do something, because they won't hear it.

His always burned the brightest.

"I know. You should." I say.

"Asshole!" He gives my arm a weak punch. "I'm trying to be genuine here."

"You lose me? I lose you? We always find our way back. Means something. Don't need to tell you what you already know."

"That your way of saying you love me too?" The grin plastered on his face is nearly smug.

"Shut the fuck up, Ian."

"If you say so."

I don't have the chance to reply, because he kisses me. The angle is awkward, we basically headbutt each other by how quickly he pulls me towards him, and I've reached the point of being so tired I'm wide awake - but right now I don't fucking care.

Guess I should've known what would come next.


	9. no one can tell us we're wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ian POV chapter is the last one i wrote on my wattpad, but i'm hoping to have it in me to finish this up soon. it's been fun to write.

**IAN**

I'd never been on a plane before. When it took off, I wasn't ready for the drop I felt in my stomach when we lifted off the ground. I swore I was about to have a fucking heartattack. Mandy held my hand, unbothered, a big smile on her face. I gave one in return, but not as promising as hers. More nervous. And pained.

She just laughed. "We're going on an adventure!"

"Yep. Adventure. Woohoo." I looked over her shoulder as the plane leveled, shoulders tense and voice filled with unenthusiasum.

"Breathe, Ian. It's not that bad. Think of the beaches, margaritas, authentic quesadillas... You know you love Mexican food."

_Do it for Mickey._

"Yeah, beaches." I took a deep breath and let it out. "Alright."

• • •

Landing and entering the airport was decidedly worse. I held onto my backpack strap for dear life and all I could think was how this was a mistake and Mickey would tell me to fuck off and I would go home knowing I was a colossal dick and I fucked up the one good thing to ever happen to me so bad I could never fix it.

Mandy's voice interrupted me mid-crisis.

"Stop it, Ian. It's going to be okay."

She bumped into me, a playful shove, and looked up at me reassuringly.

Mandy was safe. She made me feel safe. She always had. I had to trust her.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right Mands. I'm fine." I felt my face do what Mandy calls "the thing".

"Your face is doing the thing. The _I'm bullshitting and I don't want you to notice_ thing."

I hate her for how well she reads me. Just like her brother.

"I'm sorry, it's just- it's _him_." I waved my hands in front of me, exasperated. "I mean- Jesus, Mandy, I left him in a fucking dress at the border after days of talking about all the things we'd do together in our new life that I knew would never happen. How can I come back from that?"

"You don't. You move the fuck on because you love each other."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, not knowing what to say.

She started to walk backwards in front of me, challenge in her eyes. "Lie to me right now and tell me he isn't the love of your messy ass life. That he's not worth trying for. Go on."

I didn't speak, just raised an eyebrow at her. She knew the answer to that before she asked it.

"That's what I thought." She beamed, twirling around and marching ahead of me with pride in her step.

I rolled my eyes and followed.

• • •

It took two pep talks, three shots with no chasers, and a hard punch to the arm to convince me to chill the fuck out when I took my place in the lawn chair on the back porch of Rita's son's beach shack.

Mandy reached over and squeezed my hand.

"Mickey," She said, an affirmation.

I nodded, eyes darting in the direction he and Rita would be coming from just in time to see them round the corner.

_Mickey._

• • •

I have never seen him dance in all the years I've known him.

But tonight he does.

The girls slink away for a few minutes when "LOVE." comes back on. I don't think it's a coincidence that a playlist with no repeats recycled a song I'd told Mandy he loved at the exact time she and Rita decided they both needed to "step inside to get some more ice".

I don't know what to say other than I understand now what people mean when they say something melts their heart. Because mine does when he lays his head on my shoulder, hands in mine, swaying.

He seems so small, so breakable, right now. The type of drunk that turns him soft and unbearably sweet. A word he'd kill me for using to describe him. But it's true - get him deep enough in a bottle of the right liquor and he's nothing but mush.

I'd forgotten this feeling. Chest locking up, heart fluttering, wondering how I don't break from holding this much inside. Whole body singing where ever his touches mine.

"Give me a run for my money  
There is nobody, no one to outrun me  
So give me a run for my money  
Sipping bubbly, feeling lovely, living lovely  
Just love me..."

I remember what it's like to be fifteen and in love for the first time again when I'm with him. It's almost overwhelming, but I let it take me down and drown me with pleasure.

"I wanna be with you, I wanna be with..."

I rest my cheek against his head, breath catching. Aching to be closer, but there's no room to close between us. For a moment, I have to shut my eyes tight. I took my meds today, but now is not the time to dissociate.

_This is real, Ian. This is real and you need to breathe._

So I inhale, breathe in familiarity I've been missing for too long, and sing along silently.

"Am I in the way?  
I don't want to pressure you none  
I want your blessing today  
Oh by the way,  
Open the door by the way  
Told you that I'm on the way  
I'm on the way,  
I know connection is vague  
Pick up the phone for me babe..."

• • •

I'm still feeling fucked up as soon as I open my eyes again. A dream cut short escapes me, but I know it included blue eyes and desperation. For what, I don't know. I grasp to make sense of my surroundings, blinking hard. I remember this room, why I'm here, what I was doing before I fell asleep. Hours of talking about nothing and everything. With...

"Mickey?"

"Yeah?"

I stay silent for a moment, brain wrapping around the sound of his voice. Half of me wished he'd been asleep, because the words that pour out of me come on their own, asking questions I didn't know I wanted answers to.

Once Lip told me things we find hard to talk about during the day are easier said in the dark. I've never had trouble saying anything -which has gotten me into plenty of shit in my life- but Mickey has.

"When did you know?"

"Know what?"

I roll over to face him, tracing my bottom lip nervously. When I speak, my voice sounds like sleep deprivation and stupidity. "You know."

He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. A look I've seen a million times. "No, I really don't."

"When did you know you _like_ -liked me?"

"What are we, thirteen year old girls? You wanna talk Justin Timberlake next? Hang up some posters from Teeny Bopper magazine?"

I laugh. I missed his asshole commentary. "I am always up to talk about my sexual awakening brought on by JT."

Mickey rolls his eyes, looking away from me. He's quiet for a moment, tracing the outlines of the water stains on the ceiling with his eyes as I trace the line of his jaw with mine.

There's been so many moments over the years I've just watched him when he wasn't paying attention.

On the couch at his house, inbetween he and Mandy as they played video games and insulted each other. Walking down the hallway at school. At the baseball field, when he was shotgunning a beer. At a party, ignoring he was mid-sentence being a sarcastic asshole. He just gets older, but never less beautiful.

"Probably that day you showed up on my door step when Monica dropped by for one of her, uh, enlightening visits with that dyke trucker she was with at the time."

There's a soft pang inside of my chest at the mention of her name, especially the way he says it, but I don't give it away.

"Why?"

"'Cause no one had ever really said they _needed_ me up until that point. Like... I dunno, man. You were upset. You ran to me, when you could've chosen anyone else. Even Mandy, who was in the same house. Wasn't really sure what to do. I felt different after that, I guess."

I was scared that day. Young and scared and confused. Normal kids, they could run to their parents in times of need. I ran from them. Without thought, without pause, he is where I knew I wanted to be in that moment. I didn't care how pathetic I looked, panicked and close to tears begging for him to comfort me.

_"I need to see you. I don't know where else to go."_

"Different how?" I ask, secretly and embarrassingly giddy knowing I didn't seem too pathetic to him after all.

"Like it was changing from a convenient fuck to something else. Didn't know what yet. Sure as shit didn't want you to know I thought that, though." He keeps his eyes away from me, takes a deep breath and lets it out. "But the way you looked at me started meanin' a lot more."

I can't contain my grin now, moving just a little closer to him. "Really? You fucking sap."

"Ay, you asked," he shrugs. "Act like I ain't said shit like that before."

"Can I tell you something?"

"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?"

I pause. I've never really felt shy, per say, when it comes to showering Mick with compliments. But it's different now, right now, when things are so much different than they used to be.

"Okay, but don't say some dumb shit about me sounding gay."

"I mean, you are, so..." He smirks.

I lets out a huff, met with his laughter.

"Go on, Gallagher."

It just kind of pours out all at once, these things I've wanted to say since he first stepped around the corner last night. I let them.

"You're my best friend. I- I just want you to know that. I'm probably the world's worst anything to have, that's been established. But you really are. I love you, Mickey. Okay?"

He props himself up on his elbows, taking me in, and I'm suddenly hyperaware of how I must look. Hair a mess, shirt creeping up my side, trying to keep my game face on when all I feel is my lungs heavy in my ribcage from the tension.

"I know. You should." He says finally.

"Asshole!" I give his arm a weak punch. "I'm trying to be genuine here." I am.

"You lose me? I lose you? We always find our way back. Means something. Don't need to tell you what you already know."

He's got that icy look he and his sister seem to share written across his face. Blue eyes with no waiver in them, no doubt.

Like they're sure of themselves, because they only say what they mean. Like no one can tell them they can't do something, say something, want something, because they won't hear it.

His always shined the brightest.

"That your way of saying you love me too?" The smile plastered on my face is undoubtedly smug.

"Shut the fuck up, Ian."

"If you say so."

I don't give him the chance to reply, I just kiss him.

When I pull away, there's a brief moment of asking myself if I shouldn't have done that followed by him taking a fist full of my shirt and dragging me towards him. "C'mere."

"Are you sure you-"

"Kiss me." His voice. Oh, fuck.

He's slow, calculated, fingers barely grazing my cheek. He takes hold of my jaw, holding me there, and I open my eyes to meet his.

It's physically crushing, how heavy his gaze is with something I can't put a name to. There's love there, the kind I feared would be lost, but also something more. Something stronger.

Barely a whisper, he mumbles, "I don't know how to say it."

I know what he means. What he's asking. None of his usual "get on me" quips fit, if they did, he wouldn't mean them. He wants something deeper.

So do I.

"Let me take care of you."


End file.
